


Divine Grace

by Carrogath



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is faith, and then there is certainty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divine Grace

“It’s amazing how much Val Royeaux has calmed down after Halamshiral.” Leliana looked around the plaza. It was a sunny, if cold, winter’s day, and the shadows cast by the arcades were as clear and as crisp as the morning air. Gaspard had been dealt with, Celene and Briala had been reunited, and she was certain that their love would only last as long as it was convenient for the both of them. “The Inquisition is actually welcome here now. I might still have my fair share of cutthroats and assassins after me, but at least the city guards will finally take notice of my distress.”

“Corypheus is still alive,” said Cassandra. “We cannot relax just yet.” Leliana looked at her. She dressed mannish even off-duty—in a doublet, jerkin, and those agonizingly tight leather breeches she insisted on wearing, belted at the waist. She was without her sword today, perhaps not the best of ideas, but even she had to have concealed a dagger somewhere on her person. Leliana was carrying four on herself. If she found herself in need of one, she only had to ask.

“We owe it to ourselves to take a break. That may sound unusual coming from me, but if I did not talk you into this, I don’t think anyone else could.”

“It is one less thing we need to worry about, I suppose.” She took long strides beside her, cautious, wary, protective in a way that probably felt natural to her but that fascinated Leliana; Cassandra knew that she could take care of herself, but she was so used to protecting people that she did not even think about it. She frowned at her. “What are you smiling at?”

“Oh, nothing. Even under Justinia, we did not really spend time together like this.”

“And I thought I was the only one surprised at your suggestion.”

“She did not live long enough to see her efforts bear fruit. I believe… that we must enjoy ourselves, for her sake. I have spent so much time working in the dark that the sunlight hurts my eyes.”

“Was that rhetorical, or…?”

“I only wish it was,” she laughed. “I am a joke around Skyhold, aren’t I? The same as you. I lurk in shadows plotting kidnappings and murders, while you trudge around with that entirely unflattering scowl on your face—”

“My resting face is not a scowl—”

“And we are both perpetually distraught over Justinia, even though it has been months by now, and we have managed more without a Divine than we ever did with one.”

“You speak too lightly of her,” Cassandra said, her gaze calm but penetrating. “I know you are still troubled by her death.”

They turned a corner and headed down an alleyway. “Not by her death, Cassandra—by myself. I… I am used to losing people that I care about. That is a natural consequence of war. It is more than that.”

“Then what is it?” she asked. “What has been bothering you?”

They made their way to the outdoor cafe, just a little way from the harbor. “Ah,” said Leliana, eying the waiter, “two, please.”

“Of course.” He seated them immediately, either having recognized them as the Hands of the Divine or having noticed their expensive dress. “Someone will be with you right away.”

“I’m not in the mood for anything other than coffee,” said Leliana.

“You never eat,” Cassandra complained, sitting across the table from her. “If I did not know better, I would think you gave all your own provisions to the birds.”

“They need it more than I.”

“You cannot survive on willpower alone.”

“You would be surprised at what I’ve managed to survive on.” When their waiter returned, Leliana ordered coffee and a galette to go with it; Cassandra ordered a rather heavier stew along with her tea. “I’d eat rats if the situation called for it.”

“Not the soundest of ideas, considering how they carry the plague.”

“That was rhetorical,” she said, staring warmly at nothing in particular. “You are right, though—I thought I would be more comfortable than this, but it feels strange now that it is just the two of us in Val Royeaux.”

“You are expecting to be ambushed, or something of that nature?”

“I think it would be more unusual if we did not. You don’t even have your sword on you.”

“It is scarcely as if anyone would attack us in broad daylight,” she scoffed.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You want to appear vulnerable.” Cassandra looked around. “You are showing off.”

“I also sincerely wanted to give ourselves some time off,” Leliana said. “Josephine and Cullen promised to hold the fort for us at Skyhold, so to speak. We have been doing nothing but working our tails off since the Conclave was destroyed, and even they knew to rest every once in a while. Josephine went to Antiva for a week; Cullen visited his sister…”

“We have nothing to return to, ourselves.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured. “That is why we are here. Val Royeaux is our home, whether we like it or not. You have grown quite fond of it, despite turning your nose up at the Game.”

“Leliana, that should hardly come as a surprise; I have lived here for half my life already. My disdain for the Game is little more than…” she sighed, “vestigial.”

“You still complain about it, though.”

“I complain about everything. That is how I function. Complacency is not in my nature.”

“But you admit it? That you like being here?”

“Insofar as I cannot imagine living anywhere else, really.”

“You have no imagination.”

“You are the better romantic.”

Leliana eyed her. “You think so?”

“You were a bard. You have committed entire epic poems to memory. I only know what I enjoy once I see it.”

“You are the one who still believes the Chantry can be saved,” she said quietly, as their drinks arrived. She sipped her coffee. “That is more romantic than I could ever admit to being.”

“You have seen the worst it has to offer,” Cassandra said. “Even I have turned a blind eye to some of its excesses, but you would know. You…”

“I’ve committed some of them. Yes.” She clenched her cup, letting the steam waft up to her nose. “Like you and your Book of Secrets, I was privy to things that I should never have been.”

“A Book of Secrets is ironic for an order called the Seekers of Truth.”

“And covert assassinations and use of torture is ironic for a religion that preaches compassion, I agree. But sometimes it is still better not to know.”

“So that others may sacrifice themselves in my place,” she said dryly, taking a long draft of her tea. “I worry about you, you know.”

“And it is good that you do, or else I might forget myself. Your concerns do not fall on deaf ears.”

“Is that so?” Cassandra held her teacup between splayed fingers, dainty in a way that seemed uncharacteristic of her, though only as much as her love of awful romance novels and nearly ingenuous shyness. “Strange, then, that you seem to ignore me every time I try to discuss it.”

“I’m only as reckless as you are.”

“You are reckless in a different way.”

“And that somehow makes it worse?”

Their food was brought to them, but they talked through their meal. “My recklessness is halfhearted, but you are rash with your whole heart. You believe that what you are doing is good—naturally, or else you would not be doing it.”

“And you never did approve.”

“The position has its uses.”

“But you are not fond of it. What did you want to say?” asked Leliana, wiping her hands on her serviette. “I have heard all of this before.”

“I want to understand you,” she said, looking at her.

“That is a dangerous thing to say.”

“We have known each other for years now, and I generally like to know my associates more than I have known you—to befriend them, rather, as much as I am able.” She nodded toward her. “You invited me here. Were you not looking for something more?”

She laughed, breathy. “I…” She quirked her mouth. “I was not thinking about it, honestly. It felt natural to ask, somehow. Perhaps it is because I always have my eyes on you.”

“I know. It is unsettling.”

“I mean no harm.”

“That is what makes it worse,” she said, and sipped at her tea again. “We know each other so well, despite hardly ever talking, that we do not trust each other to take care of ourselves.”

“Admittedly, I don’t trust anybody.”

“You trust me enough to tell me that.”

“That is not a matter of trust, Cassandra,” she said, smiling. “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

“So you are not concerned about me?”

“I am, but it is not on the verge of overbearing—not with you, at least. You’re experienced; you know how to handle danger without me having to watch you all the time.”

“But you watch me anyway.”

“Not because of that,” she said, and she was quiet again.

“Care to tell, then?” She looked at her.

“Habit, I suppose.” Leliana drained her cup until she tasted the grounds. “That is what we did under Justinia. We kept checks on each other.”

“You, more than I. I was in charge of overseeing your punishment if you ever strayed from your purpose, but…”

“I never stopped watching you, not even for a moment.” She sighed and looked away. “I’m starting to sound a little obsessive, aren’t I?”

She grinned. “I’m afraid you were never anything but.”

“It must seem terribly unbecoming of me.”

“It is not so bad,” she said. Leliana looked up at her. “In fact, I find it… comforting, in some sense, I suppose. You know I have nothing to hide. You watch for the sake of it, because it is routine. It is normal.”

“Is that something to be so happy about?” she asked.

“Being watched? No,” she said, with hesitation, “but knowing why—that is what makes it acceptable. It would feel… strange, were your presence not there. This Inquisition—it might be led by the Inquisitor now, but it would be nothing without us. Together, we are the Hands of the Divine. We are vanguards of the faith.”

“You make it sound so grand,” Leliana chuckled. “We kill people for a living.”

“We bring order.”

“We are soldiers.”

“We are agents of the Maker.”

“Just say it like it is. We are willing to do anything for what we believe in,” she said. “We would die for our cause—and we’d do it standing over a mountain of corpses.”

“But it is a noble one.”

“You’re being contrary,” she said. “You have got to do better than that if you want to play my game.”

“Why do you sound so upset?”

“I’m not…” she said, and then stopped.

“You hesitated,” Cassandra finally said, satisfied. “You… It is—I don’t know how I feel about saying this, but—I want to believe that you understand what you are doing is wrong.”

“How could I do my work,” Leliana said, her brows furrowed, “if I told myself that what I’m doing is wrong?”

“Josephine said that you were quite vibrant when you were younger. The first time she told me that, I did not believe her, to be truthful,” she said, speaking into her cup; the tea must have gone cold by now. “But I had hoped to be wrong. My… faith, it has never been flawless. Yours has always been much more heartfelt, but it is brittle.” She put her cup down. “Forgive me. I’m rambling.”

“You’re not. Go on,” she said, “you’re doing well.”

Cassandra frowned. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m encouraging you.”

“There is something romantic about that,” she said, briefly. “First you are up and then you are down, and you are… I don’t know. You are like a heroine from the tales. I feel compassion, or sympathy, or, or something.”

“Cassandra,” she said, astonished.

“What?” she snapped. “You think it is odd?”

“Well…” she said, “admittedly you have never been that skilled at putting your feelings into words, but right then you sounded a little…”

“Tell me,” she said, her tone threatening.

Leliana simpered. “You sounded smitten.”

She blushed. Dear Maker, the woman turned _red_. “I am not. Just because I express myself poorly, that doesn’t mean—”

“I was joking.”

“You would not joke if it didn’t—”

“Mean something? Then you are admitting to it?”

“I am not—”

“Smitten. I understand. Maker,” she sighed, “you are adorable.”

“Ugh.” She turned away. “That is the last time I ever talk to you about this.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, “and after this conversation you will never be able to stop thinking about it.”

Cassandra slapped a few silvers—her share of the bill—onto the table. “We are done here.”

“Calm down,” she said, still smiling. “It really was just a joke.”

“According to you and every other woman who’s ever flirted with me.” There was a curl of disgust in her voice.

“You don’t have to sound so offended by it.”

She persisted. “You enjoy their attentions. I do not. I don’t see why that is so hard to understand—”

“For Andraste’s sake, I wasn’t hitting on you!”

She looked at her. “I…” She pressed her lips together, skeptical. “Then what would you call it?”

“I was teasing you. Teasing. I do it when I am in a good mood; I know it doesn’t happen that often, but trust me, it is something that I am capable of doing.”

Cassandra exhaled in both relief and exasperation. “You were only teasing.”

“You are much too sensitive about these matters. If you weren’t so flustered by it, then perhaps people wouldn’t do it to you so often.”

“It is not as if I don’t realize that I’m overreacting.”

“If you realize you’re overreacting, then stop.”

“I do! I… I try to explain, but they are never convinced,” she said, scowling.

“Then your explanations must not be very persuasive.”

“I am only telling them the truth! Maker,” she said, clutching the table, “you do not know how many times this has happened to me. I have had to prepare speeches in advance for it. They do not understand the meaning of ‘rejection’; it is as if women exist for the express purpose of harassing me.”

“You’re kidding,” she said. “You’ve had to work with women your entire life. They have done you no wrong.”

“They are harpies.”

“You’re a woman.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” She exhaled. “Perhaps you are right. I… I care too much about how they are feeling, I suppose. I am too soft.”

“You’re fine as you are.”

“You are attracted to me.”

“Perhaps, but that’s not why I said that.”

“So you’d admit it.”

“As would half of Val Royeaux.”

She made an irritated noise. “Can we please stop talking about this, Leliana? You said you were only teasing me. I understood that. There is no reason for us to discuss it any further.”

“Why? Because it is not part of our job?”

“That, and because I have some sense of what you are like when you are too comfortable. If I do not keep you at arm’s length, you will try to force yourself in.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“Now you will accuse me of playing hard to get.”

“I’m sorry.” Leliana laughed honestly, for the first time in a long time. “You’re… You’re too much fun to tease, that’s all. Your reactions are positively endearing.”

“I can see that,” she groaned.

“I’ll stop.” She smiled. “Really, I do not want to make you uncomfortable around me.”

“I was not uncomfortable until today.”

“Then allow me to set things back the way they were.” Leliana produced her share of the payment from her pockets. “There. Now,” she stood up, “shall we be on our way?”

“We could not be out of here sooner,” said Cassandra, and, with a bristle of impatience, stood up and walked out of the cafe.

They walked along the canals, and made their way into the little shops tucked within the waterside apartments, dressed like civilians but still much too conspicuous. Leliana could feel eyes on them from every corner. Some people recognized them as the Divine Hands, and others noticed them purely for the fact that they were themselves. Cassandra stalked over her like a bodyguard, not quite glaring, but never comfortable, while Leliana slipped in and out of shadows, always tentative and alert. They could really only afford to spend a day in Val Royeaux. Cassandra especially was like a celebrity, having been the Right Hand for so many years; most everyone knew of the Hero of Orlais, in enormously exaggerated fact, if not in person. It was impressive how they had managed to go unnoticed for so long—

“Seeker Pentaghast? Sister Leliana?”

And then the spell was broken. A woman in Chantry robes—a fellow sister—approached them as they walked along the canals, soaking in sun and ambiance. She was older, maybe in her sixties, and seemed relaxed.

“Hello,” said Cassandra, terse.

“Indeed it is us.” Leliana turned smoothly on her heels. She didn’t recognize her; she must not have been native to the city. People visited Val Royeaux for all sorts of reasons—pilgrimages to the Grand Cathedral, meetings between branches of the Chantry, personal visits, shopping—and a Chantry sister could have been here for any of those.

“It is rare to see the two of you together.”

“We’re aware of that,” she said, smiling. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Sister…?” In the back of her mind, Leliana recalled where she had put her knives, and she saw Cassandra shift almost imperceptibly, ready to run or defend herself at a moment’s notice. She could sense no malicious intent from the woman, but she had reason to be wary.

“Sister Germaine, of Mont-de-glace. It is not a particularly interesting place, in the grand scheme of things. But as for my inquiry…” said the sister. “I am… I know it has been so long, but you have my condolences regarding Divine Justinia. I hear you have both been nominated for the Sunburst Throne?”

They glanced at each other.

“That is my understanding,” Cassandra said slowly. “Though neither of us have stated our intentions to run quite yet.”

“I understand you are both working for the Inquisition now, under the Herald of Andraste.”

“Yes,” said Leliana. “We are fighting against the forces of Corypheus. He is darkspawn in origin.”

“Which you are no doubt familiar with,” said the sister. “I would like to see one of you become Divine.”

“One of us?” said Leliana. “When there are so many other qualified candidates?”

“We—the devout of the Chantry—have seen you, Sister Leliana, Seeker Pentaghast. You are performing the Maker’s work. The Inquisition wishes to bring order, and you have only the noblest of intentions. Is it so difficult to believe you would lead the Chantry to a higher purpose, as well?”

“But which one?” she asked, smiling.

“That depends on which direction the Chantry wishes to go,” said the sister, cryptically. “Left, or right?” She laughed.

Leliana’s eyes darted around the street. She saw nothing, but the longer they talked the more restless she became. “Do you have a preference yourself, Sister?”

“Oh, that is a troublesome question.” She saw the sister smile, deepening the crow’s feet around her eyes. “You are both so lovely—you are like flowers in bloom.”

“Sister,” she chuckled, “you flatter us.”

“Why must I pick?” she finally said. “Certainly, it will be only one of you up there on the throne, but a Divine is nothing without people to serve her. I suppose it does not matter to me, not really. I only hope that you will continue to serve, and perhaps serve together, if it pleases you. We value many virtues in the Andrastian faith, but it seems that we do not value friendship nearly enough.”

“I will keep that in mind, Sister Germaine.”

“I have taken up too much of your time,” said the sister, and Leliana immediately detached herself from the conversation and faded into her surroundings, “so I will be going now.” She bowed her head and went on her way, and Leliana and Cassandra looked at each other.

“Did you…?”

“No,” said Leliana. “There is nothing. We are not in any immediate danger, as far as I can tell, and my instincts are usually right.”

“She reminded me a little of Justinia,” Cassandra said. “She was always telling us to get along; we would not have known each other so well otherwise.”

Leliana’s eyes kept searching, kept roving. “Let’s walk,” she said, and her feet began to move. “It does us no good to linger here.”

Once they had walked a good several meters away from the sister, under one of those ubiquitous arches, she began to relax by a hair. “Now she’s got me wondering if Justinia would ever pick favorites.”

“I would hope not,” Cassandra said dryly. “I have seen the Chantry leadership squabble like children enough times; there is no need to add to it.”

“She had known me for longer.”

“I have been the Right Hand for—” she paused and frowned. “We’re not arguing about this.”

“But do you want to become the Divine, Cassandra?”

“I have confidence that I would perform in the position adequately.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I am a stubborn middle-aged woman,” she said sharply, “and as the years go on I will only grow older and more stubborn. I do not see myself enjoying the role in any sense—”

“When do you ever enjoy anything?”

“But if that is what the people want, then I will not refuse them.” She began to wring her hands. “What about you?”

“I think I like the idea more than the actual position itself,” she said, casting a wry glance into the distance. “I know I would not run it like you—you would do away with all pretense that the Chantry was not a military institution.”

“We need the Templars.”

“And that is why we disagree.” She sighed. “That being said, I would probably have the Chantry crawling with spies, if it were up to me. It would not happen all at once, but I have to know everything; that is who I am.”

“You would not have Chantry Templars; you would have Chantry bards.”

“Possibly.”

“Maker, you would ruin it,” she groaned.

“How so?” said Leliana, grinning.

“You are dishonest. A religion cannot afford to deceive its own believers.”

“Religion is deceptive by its very definition. Faith is a form of self-deception.”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra looked at her in that surly way of hers. “But there is strength to be found in that.”

“But there is a limit for you, hmm? ‘No more secrets in the Book of Secrets,’ you said?”

“The Lord Seekers failed us,” she said. “Their old ways did not work, so I will try mine. And there is a difference between planting spies in every Chantry in Thedas without telling anybody, and believing that the Maker exists.”

“You would not trust me if I did that?”

“I would trust you, specifically,” Cassandra said, “but not those under you. I trust the Maker, but I do not trust His servants. You do not account for those under you in the public eye. You are secretive, and you prevaricate. If you were to take advantage of your position to do wrong, then it is possible that no one would know until it was too late. And I am not saying that you ever would, but with that attitude of yours, you would certainly be giving them the wrong idea.”

“Perhaps it’s better that neither of us do, then,” she laughed.

“And leave it to whom?”

“That is the million-sovereign question, no?” Leliana leaned against a column. “We are not really serving in our traditional roles under the Inquisitor, but I wonder if you would be willing to take yours up again, under the new Divine.”

“Unless she is truly an abominable choice, I don’t see why not.”

“And this,” she said, looking up at the sky, “would it be OK like this?”

“Like what?”

“To… to be friends. You are so difficult, Cassandra; I worry that we would drift apart if we did not somehow find a way to stay together.”

“You are the one who never tells anybody where she’s going,” Cassandra grumbled. “I have remained in the exact same spot for twenty years, and I have no intention of leaving it.”

“Then you would blame me?”

“I wouldn’t… blame you,” she said, hesitant, “I would merely accept your absence as fact. People move on. I, apparently, do not.”

“Strange. I could be telling myself that.”

She was quiet. “Then perhaps we have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, but we do.” Leliana looked at her. “I only meant that in these sense that I do not learn from my mistakes. You have never erred quite so… egregiously, being the dutiful Seeker that you are, so you have never had to live feeling like you don’t deserve it, but my actions—they have seemed wasteful at times.” She looked away. “We are friends, and you may be right, but I see no future for myself, or my work.”

Cassandra looked at her, searching for words. “Subterfuge is a necessary component of… politics,” she said haltingly. “You would not be the first to do it; it is unsightly, but it is not…”

“Because it has been this way for ages, you cannot find fault with me for believing that it is an acceptable way to do things?”

“I do not want you to blame yourself,” she said. “Your work has been effectual in helping us fight Corypheus. You cannot stop now; you are doing good.”

“Are you worried about me, or about the quality of my work?”

“You cannot seriously be asking me that.”

“Of course,” said Leliana. “I suppose I ought to know better.” She stood up. “It is cold, in the shade. We ought to walk in the sun while it is still up.”

They were quiet and restless for most of the afternoon; it was as if the combined weight of the past few months’ fatigue had caught up to her all at once. Cassandra was a morning person, so naturally she did not seem tired, but Leliana could see her fidgeting, the thoughts roiling behind her eyes. She worried about the Chantry, and its future, and about the war, and its victims, as if Thedas had not seen enough turmoil already. For all of her many flaws, compassion might have been her greatest. She was soft, and she was lovely, but at the end of the day, it would be Leliana and her agents who got the work done, and Cassandra who would fret over whether or not it was being done and only relax when she knew that it had been done, and even then she did not want to know how.

She was like Josephine. She willfully turned a blind eye to Leliana’s work, because she liked Leliana, if not what she did. She trusted her, against her better judgment; she had faith, because that is what she did. Her trust was difficult to gain, but once it was there, it would never be lost. These people liked her. They expected nothing from her. Andraste, she was blessed, and she didn’t know what she had done to deserve it.

“You said you saw no future for yourself,” Cassandra said after a while, when the sun was low in the sky. She sat down on a bench in the central plaza. “Why?”

“It’s not… rewarding, anymore. It’s not satisfying. It is admittedly becoming draining,” said Leliana, sitting down beside her. “When you are hard—when you are angry—you do not think, you work. You do not hesitate, because when the stakes are so high, you cannot afford to hesitate. Every time I falter, it is another death on my hands. I am _right_ ,” she glared at her, “Maker, I am right, because if I am wrong…” She looked away. She was quiet for a moment. “I cannot be at peace with my mistakes, like you can. I must trudge on blindly forward, because if I stop… I cannot live. You,” she said, distraught, “you have the benefit of being completely oblivious to everything but your own aims, but I notice everything.” She grew rigid. “So I fool myself. I deceive myself. I tell myself that I am right, because I will not survive if I do not. Your faith in me might be blind, but I must put those blinders on. You see the difference, Cassandra? You are being deceived. I am the deceiver. I am the reason people like you can remain innocent, because I choose what to say and what to avoid saying, and…” She buried her face in her hands. “I cannot live being so aware of everything. The knowledge is killing me,” she hissed. “I live every day with this weight on my chest, and it is killing me.”

Cassandra was silent, and she could feel tears sinking into her gloves. She shook with her sobs, and felt Cassandra’s hand, timid and feather-light on her back, and could not say whether it made her feel better or worse.

“They’re afraid of me, Cassandra,” she said. “I am the sister who smiles to your face before stabbing you in the back. I lie. I cheat. I swindle. I deceive. I am not strong; I want to die. I am miserable,” she said, shaking, “not because I have been abandoned by the Maker, but because of what I have done in His name.”

“You care,” she said, softly.

“I cannot afford to care.”

“There will be time,” she said, “to grieve for the lost.”

“I cannot wait. I… I am an absolute hypocrite, Maker.”

“Leliana.”

She waited until the tears had stopped, and then pressed the rest out of her eyes. Her makeup had run; she would look absolutely monstrous if she did not wipe the rest off. She pulled a kerchief from her pockets and began to wipe her face. “I did not mean to have a breakdown in the middle of Val Royeaux. Let us go. If someone had intended to kill me here, I would be dead by now.”

“You are not…”

“Later,” she said, looking at her. “Please.”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra, of course, was either an excellent or a horrid choice to confide in; she did not try to bring up what had happened in Val Royeaux for many days after that. If they had anything in common, it was that they were both excellent at keeping their mouths shut. As opposed to Josephine, who could talk and talk until her throat went raw from strain, Cassandra was selective with her words. If she saw no reason to use them, then she would not. In fact, they didn’t even see each other much in the following days. She could only guess that it was because Cassandra wanted to avoid her. She had seen Leliana at her worst, and she understood that she could not help. Fair enough. They had gone months without seeing each other, under the Divine.

Leliana did not forget, precisely, but she was not as aware of their visit to Val Royeaux in the weeks afterward. New leads had brought them to the Arbor Wilds, and even after they had chased Corypheus from Mythal and won them an ally that could match his dragon, she still had to visit the Wilds periodically to ensure that his influence would not spread. She was not fond of Morrigan’s continued presence, either, but she had become quite a bit more patient and respectful in the intervening years. It was a comfortable truce. Knowing that, Leliana threw herself into her work, assiduously, obsessively, until Valence.

Dorothea’s message sent her into a panic. “The Left Hand should lay down her burden,” it had said. Lay down her burden! It was not a burden; she was doing this for her, certainly, but what, an empty box, some pretty words, her refusal to kill someone after chasing a moment’s hesitation, and then what? She was to leave her position? She did not kill if she did not see it necessary, of course; there had been other times when she did not kill, out of mercy, perhaps, damn the word, but something about Valence—about being there, in the cloister—had devastated her, in a way. It was as if Justinia were speaking to her in the flesh, asking her to calm down, because she knew exactly what was going to happen, and in fact it did, and she hated that Dorothea had been able to follow of the trajectory of her life postmortem. She had been forgiven by a damned empty box, like an indulgence paid for through her own suffering. She was mad, and she didn’t even know why. She felt conned. Swindled. Lied to. Cheated. Deceived.

And then, in the rookery, reading the message for what felt like the thousandth time in a row, she _laughed_. She laughed and laughed, loud enough and broken enough that it cowed everyone in the room, and she could not stop laughing. Of course. Dorothea knew her better than even Cecilie did. Than Marjolaine did. She knew. She understood. She knew that Leliana needed her forgiveness, and she knew that she would not have it any other way.

She laughed, and then she cried, because for once she understood what had been taken from them. She laughed through her tears, alone, because that is how she survived, alone, and she would only ever be alone in the grace of the Maker and with the blessings of Andraste, alone in all the world.

Afterward, there was still the matter of the Divine election, and Leliana put it aside for as long as she could. Vivienne and Cassandra had already stated their intentions to run, but Leliana hesitated. She thought about what Cassandra had said, and she worried about it. If Dorothea could manage as well as she could, then, surely, Leliana could manage as well, but she could not trust herself with anything nowadays. Josephine had almost bodily dragged her to tea at least twice in the past week, if only to hear herself talk, and her agents, who were usually professional, now expressed concern for her well-being. She may have been losing her mind, but that would come as no surprise to her. She had hardly ever been sane to begin with. Perhaps this was merely a consequence of learning how to love herself again.

Cassandra came unannounced to the rookery one night with a bottle of Antivan wine in one hand and two glasses in another. Leliana was horrified.

“It seems that spring has come to Skyhold,” she said.

Leliana laughed. She could not even remember the last time she had seen Cassandra, let alone talked to her. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“It is a time of rebirth.” They sat at a small table, adjacent to each other. “I was told you were having trouble, so I decided that you required a drink.”

“This is quite unlike you, Seeker Pentaghast.” Leliana’s eyes flickered to the bottle, and it was not wine; in fact, it was brandy. “You realize that is not wine?”

“I did not suggest that we were going to finish it.”

“Really, Cassandra,” she said, looking at her askance. “What’s the occasion?”

“A peace offering. I know I have been avoiding you as of late. I was not… there,” she said, glancing away, “to witness your trials, and I regret that. I should have done more.”

“So you think that drinking is going to help?”

“No, but I know it is something you would enjoy, at least.”

“This can’t be a good idea,” she said. “You do not handle your liquor well.”

“I trust you.”

“You should not,” Leliana said, with a breathy laugh. “At the very least, we are both going to be on the floor tomorrow morning, and everyone is going to be talking about it.”

“It will distract them from heavier matters.”

“And you are not afraid to embarrass yourself?”

“I am an embarrassing person by nature. It isn’t anything new,” she said, unceremoniously corking the bottle. “Corypheus is afraid, Leliana. We are winning. We… will win.” She poured them both about a third of their glasses. “Call my celebration premature, but I did not think once that our foolish little Inquisition would survive to this day.”

“You’re excited.” Leliana took a sip. It was good, strong; she felt it like fire on the way down. “I hardly ever see you this way.”

“I knew I was right to trust the Inquisitor.” She was smiling, the sort of smile that tugged at her scar and stretched it. “I have had my doubts all along, but for once, I can be confident in my decisions. Ours, rather. To have even started an Inquisition in the first place—it was Justinia’s vision, but it was our actions that brought her ideas into reality. Corypheus fears us. It is working.” She drank impulsively, did not check herself; that was Cassandra’s problem with spirits.

“So you needed someone to share your newfound happiness with?”

“It is a victory for both of us. It is something we can both be proud of, and not that damned Divine election that has everyone’s teeth on edge,” she growled. “Vivienne, I… Honestly, I do not know if she would make such a good candidate, and forgive me for saying this, but she consolidates power far too much. She would not spare an ear for the suggestions of others.”

“Then you are putting in a vote for yourself?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No. Not at all.” Leliana ran a finger around the mouth of her wine glass. “Should I run? Should I even try?”

“We cannot both be Divine, or else I would have suggested that.” She shrugged. “I would serve you, if you would have me.”

“And I the same.”

“Perhaps you would even succeed if you ran, but that is not my choice. You are different than you were in Val Royeaux. I know, because I hear them talk.”

“I am not that different,” she drawled. “I still spy on people without their permission and condone virtually everything that I did before—with the exception of outright murder, on most days. But I know that is not everything I could be. I can lead a different life. I can be a different person.”

“You can change,” said Cassandra, taking a sip again. “If you become the Divine, then, with the Chantry…”

“I cannot say. I am not sure of anything right now.” She drank. This brandy was delicious; she did not know where Cassandra could have gotten it from. Perhaps she found it in a box in an abandoned house somewhere while traveling alongside the Inquisitor. It would not be the first time she had received a gift that way.

“I would support you.”

“Now you are too relaxed,” she said.

“I’m in a good mood.”

“That’s true, and you rarely are. Perhaps I shouldn’t spoil it for you.” Leliana stirred the brandy around in her glass. “Did something else happen today? You have your good moods, and then you have your elated ones.”

“Nothing. I am delirious from overwork, maybe. I needed a drink.” She sipped her brandy. “I am… Honestly, I would be happy to serve under you, as your Right Hand. I would like to find my fellow Seekers, and re-establish the Order—but we are nothing without a Chantry and a Divine to guide us.”

“You do not want to become the Divine?”

“Not after hearing all of this about Valence and you wanting to take up the position. I would not refuse the position, certainly, but I am…” She held the glass up to her chin. “I am tired.”

“You?” Leliana looked at her. “Tired?”

“I am drinking brandy. You know I do not typically drink for pleasure. I am drinking because I feel stressed.”

“When are you not stressed?”

“It is not that kind of stress.” She sighed. “I am sorry. I came up here to celebrate your renewal of faith, and now I am using it to talk about myself.”

“You rarely talk about yourself to me,” she said. “You have nothing to apologize for; I want to hear what you have to say.”

“It is nothing important, I’m sure.”

“You are avoiding the subject.”

“You have avoided mine plenty of times,” she said sourly. “What gives you the right to ask me now?”

“Because I am concerned for you as a friend. And you know I keep precious few of those.”

She was quiet. “The… The Inquisitor has done good work. The Inquisition has done good work. I feel proud to be a part of that—Justinia was responsible for its declaration, but you and I were responsible for its establishment. I only wish I had been able to do more. I…” She chuckled. “I always wish that I had done more.” She stared into her glass, and then downed the rest. “And I _do_ do more. I work as hard as anyone else in the Inquisition; Skyhold will not run itself. I should be satisfied with that.”

“And yet you are not,” said Leliana. “Why?”

“I work like a dog,” she began tentatively. “I train recruits, I work with Cullen, I maintain equipment, I travel on missions—I am away for weeks at a time, especially when we end up in the Hissing Wastes or the Western Approach—and when I come back I am totally exhausted.” She poured herself another glass. “Then I wake up in the morning, and I do it again. I have my devotions, I pray to the Maker, I train with Iron Bull or Blackwall, and I keep myself in shape. It is my routine. It is ordinary. It is normal. It is… comfortable.” She took a draft of her brandy. “I should not want anything more. I know I cannot do everything on my own. I have told the Inquisitor as much—and I trust our leader. I trust what we are doing. I… I have faith.”

“You don’t sound very convinced of that.”

“You know that my faith is not perfect.”

“Then what are your doubts?” she asked, leaning over.

“You…” Cassandra looked at her. “You could not bear the weight of your decisions, and how they affected others. You nearly killed yourself over the consequences of your actions. You did not trust yourself to delegate, or to lead. You were soft when you thought you needed to be hard.”

“But it wasn’t true. Justinia taught me that.”

“How?” she asked. “When did you realize that you needed to change your attitude? Why are you so content with yourself now?”

“Because Justinia knew this would happen to me, and I resent that she did.” Leliana laughed dryly. “She played me for a fool, even after her death. Leaving little notes, making me suffer to discover the meaning of her words… That is the language that I speak. That is the only way anyone could ever communicate with me. I do not listen when I am told something, Cassandra; I must be tricked, because I am too clever for my own good.” She stared into her glass, wistful. “It was the shock that changed me, really. And I am still reeling.”

“I hardly doubt anything could surprise me now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I am…” She hesitated. “I am dissatisfied with who I am. I am angry, but I do not know why. I say I can do better, and I do, but it is never enough. I am not at peace with myself.”

“You are speaking in the abstract.”

“Because I cannot find anything to be dissatisfied with. We are winning, Leliana. I should be drinking to celebrate, not to forget. The world is changing, and when it does, I will change with it.” She drank from her glass. “I am jealous, because you look so carefree and I still have this persistent urge to hit something with a sword. It is infuriating.”

“Well, there must be some reason,” she said.

“Certainly, there are fools in the Chantry, and fools at Skyhold, and the world will never suffer from a dearth of fools. There’s plenty to be angry about. I am aware of that.” Cassandra looked at her. “I can find plenty of things to direct my anger toward: if not myself, then the first cretin who crosses my path and dares to upset me. The putrid Templar and Seeker leadership. The excesses of Val Royeaux. The innocent victims of the Game. Of war. Of poverty. Pick one; they are all valid. That is not what bothers me, truly.” She leaned against the table. “I have never been… satisfied. I have believed that is how I naturally am, how I ought to be. That some people are simply angry their entire lives, and never… But you are smiling, now,” she said. “You gave me hope, so in some ways, I suppose I blame you.”

“Me? I’m responsible for your distress?” Leliana smiled. “I haven’t even done anything.”

“I never said you did.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“There is plenty wrong with me. You see them. I am a joke. A caricature who scowls and reads bad romance novels and lashes out at people with violence disproportionate to their faults. I am an idealist with faith in Chantry, despite never being given reason to believe it could be anything but an outdated relic; I speak as if I understand what I’m saying and yet I do nothing but complain.”

“You have done plenty.”

“I do nothing unless I am prompted. I have faith—I have faith, and that is all I have.” She leaned over. “I believe, so I am complacent. I expect everyone else to know better than me. I do not trust myself to do anything important,” she said, lurching across the table, “so I pass the responsibilities to someone else. I am afraid to make mistakes. I am a coward.”

Leliana looked her in the eye. “You left the Seekers of your own volition.”

“There was nothing left for me there.” Cassandra stood up. “That was not bravery; that was self-preservation. Anyone who had half a brain could see that they were hopeless. We left the Chantry because Justinia trusted her legacy to us—and that was not a decision I made on my own.”

“Indeed. I suppose I was a part of that.”

She picked up her glass and drained it, and set it back down. “My reasoning stands. I was following Justinia; then I was following you; now I am following the Inquisitor. I… I have never been wrong about _who_ to follow.” She looked at her. “But perhaps that is only my luck.”

“Then you are afraid you will be led on,” she said, speaking into her wine glass. “What do you want to do about that?”

“Nothing,” she said, and sat down. “I want to do nothing. I feel selfish and tired, and frankly I want to do nothing.” She poured herself another glass. “I would be perfectly happy to drop all of my responsibilities and buy an apartment in Val Royeaux and collect terrible romance serials. Maybe I might even commission them. From Varric.”

“You’re joking.”

“I am tired, Leliana. I do work, and it feels thankless. I hear praise, and I feel nothing. I am weary, and I am old.” She sighed into her glass. “Maker. I was not the Hero of Orlais; I was a distraction from the real issue—which was that there was dissent in the highest circles of the Chantry. The Grand Cleric of Orlais was trying to assassinate the Divine.”

“I have heard.”

“However you have heard it, I can assure you, that was not what really happened. I…” she hesitated. “I am only kind because it suits me, you know. I am so tired of being held up to an ideal.” She took a sip, slow and savoring. “I know I cannot be perfect, so I don’t understand why I even bother.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I know.” She looked down. “I should stop.”

“I don’t know what that really means for you,” said Leliana. “You would work yourself to death if you were not required to sleep.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“But I know how to enjoy myself.”

“You enjoy yourself too much.”

“I do not.” She smiled at her. “I have hardly ever enjoyed myself until now.”

She was quiet. She looked into her glass, or past it. “I have denied myself pleasure for so long I do not even really know what I want.”

“Perhaps it is honesty.”

She looked up. “How do you mean?”

“You did not believe me when I said it back then? That faith is a form of self-deception. You can say that you believe in the Maker, and you can say that you believe in the ideals of the Chantry, but those are ideas, and ideas do not _do_ anything. No, it is the people who believe in them.” Leliana drank the rest of her glass. “It is our friends. Our families. It is the people we care about. You hate the Game because it engenders mistrust and betrayal, but also because you want to believe in people. That is where your faith comes from. You want to believe that the people that you hate can have a change of heart. That you will not have to kill them in armed conflict. That they will not have to die because they are so convinced that you are wrong that they are willing to cut you down for it.” She looked at her. “Am I wrong?”

“Is that what you believe?” she asked.

She laughed. “I do not. I believe in you—I believe in our friends and colleagues. I believe those whom I can trust, but I do not trust that many people. I am not… an idealist. I am willing to rid the world of those I do not see fit to live in it. You have killed many times before, so I’m sure you feel the same.”

She looked away. “It is a shame.”

“It is a fact of living. The weak die, and the strong live. I understand that. I accept it. I do not like it, but that does not make it any less real to me.”

“You are wrong. I fight to protect. I… There are evil people in this world, surely, and I have killed, but I am not…” She hesitated. She looked like she was having trouble thinking; it must have been the brandy. “No. It is an excuse.” She laughed. “I fight because it is what I am good at. I am not good with my words, but I am good with my sword. I tell myself that I am doing good, even though I am taking lives. I am ridding the world of evil, and thus, every person I cut down must also be evil. That is how I live with myself. That is how I cope.”

“But it is not honest.”

“It is not. Perhaps I am a hypocrite.”

“We are all hypocrites.”

“But we don’t have to be.”

“Cassandra,” she said, and looked at her levelly, so that their eyes met and Cassandra was staring back. “Why did you come up here? What are you looking for?”

“I am looking for a reason not to be angry. I am looking for a reason to have hope.”

“You are looking for another person to admire?”

“Someone I can devote my life to?” She smiled wanly. “Someone to love?”

“I thought that was the Inquisitor.”

“You know I do not feel that way about the Inquisitor.”

“It is not a very convincing act,” she said, and grinned. “What’s wrong with that, though? You are not hanging on the Inquisitor’s every word; you have a mind of your own. You have a separate life, and you two will part ways, and it will be fine. You will just… find someone else to latch onto.”

“Like a parasite,” she said, grimacing.

“You have been doing well so far.”

“I am miserable, Leliana. If I seem fine, it is because I have forgotten how else to be. I might devote my life to ideals, but they are… empty.” She hunched. She looked exhausted, and a bit drunk. “Ideals are not the ones who risk their lives for me in battle. Those are my comrades. I… know that. I am not that self-absorbed. I like to think that I appreciate their efforts.”

“Yes, because your scowl tells them so much.”

Cassandra glared at her, but it faded quickly. “You fight for what you believe is right, and you accept that you may destroy those who do not deserve it. Why?”

“I do not care,” she said, simply and honestly. “I cannot afford to care about everyone; I would not be able to do my work otherwise. I am just not as… upset, about it. And I am more conscious of the actions that I take. I am not deluded; I know there are people who will disagree with me. But I do not let that stop me. Do you understand?” Leliana asked, looking at her. “If I am wrong—if I am well and truly wrong—then I am willing to accept that, and I am willing to make amends. I can forgive myself, because I know that is what Justinia would want.” She looked down, at the table, at the floor. “If I am wrong, that is OK, because the Maker—because Dorothea—because they love me. I am a child of the Maker. I am… I am good.” She smiled up at her.

It drew a smile from her, a sympathetic reaction, perhaps, but a lovely one to see on her face. “You are… I have not known a more pious individual. You are—you are truly representative of the faith. If they ever decide to canonize you, then let me be the first to vouch for your holiness.” She looked past her. “You are good,” she breathed. “You are good,” and then she looked down, and tears welled in her eyes. “Maker,” she said, “you are a bard and an an assassin and a spy; do not tell me that you are _good_.”

“You believe me.”

“I cannot stand you. I think you are wrong. If you are ‘good,’” she said, clenching her teeth, “then what am I?”

“Cassandra,” she said, “you are not just good. You… are marvelous.”

She trembled, speechless from crying. One hand covered her face, while the other lay on the table, useless, and Leliana covered it with her own hands. “Marvelous, you say.” She forced the words through her tears, “I am…”

“Self-absorbed, yes, and temperamental and impulsive, and absolutely dense as a brick. But you are also selfless, and you are loving. You love with your whole heart. But you are not the Maker; you do not have nearly enough room in your heart to care about everyone. You are angry because you are not a saint—but, Cassandra, none of us are saints.” She laughed. “Not even the canonized ones.”

“But what do I do? How can I live?”

“Start with acceptance,” Leliana said softly. “Forgive yourself. I am no expert at forgiveness, and I am no saint. I do not deserve to be canonized. But… even so, I can help you,” she murmured, bowing her head down low, close to her hands and Cassandra’s hand. “Let me in.”

She slid a hand off her face. “Let you in,” she said, confused. “Into what?”

“You are drunk,” said Leliana. “We talked about it in Val Royeaux. You complained. You said that if you did not keep me at arm’s length, then I would try to force my way into your heart.”

“It is yours,” she said. “Take it.”

“You are drunk,” she said again, and parted her hands and kissed Cassandra’s fingers. “You will wake up tomorrow morning remembering all of this and then you will swear up and down that you did not mean it in the way you said you did.”

“Why?” Cassandra furrowed her brow. “We are… We are friends. We are partners. I love you.”

“Oh,” she said, and sat up and looked at her. “You are really playing hard to get.”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra woke up the next morning with a terrible headache. She had been drunk last night. Maker, what did they even talk about? They had brandy, and then they were talking about all sorts of difficult things… the Divine election… Leliana… herself… She felt embarrassed for some reason, but she could not remember why.

So, she did what she thought was most prudent: she ignored the feeling. She ignored it through her morning prayers and her morning stretches, through their usual meeting in the war room whereupon Leliana betrayed no memory of last night—of course she would not—through the routine drills that she had with the Templars personally under her command, and through her afternoon training on the practice grounds where she typically stayed until supper. There, Leliana had left a message driven into one of her practice dummies, supplied by the way of a knife through the chest, exactly where the heart would be. She had a sense of humor, if nothing else. Cassandra pulled out the knife and read the message. It said to meet her in the rookery, after supper. She kept both the knife and the message; she would return the knife when she saw Leliana. Although she assumed that Leliana kept many spare knives, she thought that she still might want to have it. Then she kept training, until supper, and then she had supper, and then she went up to the rookery where they were to meet, and there Leliana was.

“You got my message,” she said, smiling, and Cassandra frowned because her smile was disingenuous.

She held out the knife. “You left this out on the training grounds,” she said.

“It was for you,” Leliana replied. “I did not expect it back. But of course you would return it, because that is who you are.” Leliana took the knife and put it down on a nearby table. “I do not wish to speak here.” Her eyes scoured the room. “There are too many ears listening.”

“Then where are we to go?”

“Come.” Leliana beckoned her. “Follow me.”

Cassandra followed her out of the rookery, and out of the tower, up across the ramparts, away from any areas of activity, to the far end of Skyhold. There they ascended a watchtower, all the way to the top, and Leliana pushed open a hatch in the ceiling and climbed out. Cassandra climbed out after her. From here she could see they were surrounded by mountains. The courtyard looked small from this height; they had gone up further than she had realized.

Leliana leaned against the parapets. “Charming view, no? I do not station any soldiers up here, because I want to keep this place for myself.”

Cassandra looked around. It was certainly very beautiful, being so undisturbed. It was also very cold. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

“Do you remember anything of last night?”

“I…” She had tried to avoid thinking about it. “No. Not really. I woke up with a hangover.” The memories were starting to come back, though; she had forced herself not to recall them before, and now that she did, she was beginning to feel quite embarrassed. “I cried,” she admitted, and Leliana did not even have to ask.

“Do you remember why you cried?” she asked, bowing her head slightly.

“I was emotional.”

“That is the reason everyone cries.” She rolled her eyes. “What caused it? Do you recall?”

She tried to think; it was all a haze. “I was… upset. You were telling me something I did not want to hear, and it made me very… upset.” She frowned. She was repeating herself. “I…” She remembered saying something along the lines of “I love you,” and it unnerved her. “We spoke of many things last night. I got drunk, and I believe I told you more than was appropriate.”

“It was not ‘more than was appropriate,’” Leliana said. “It was just enough.” She stood up. “Now I am worried that you forgot all about it, and our conversation meant nothing to you.”

“I am thankful for your support,” said Cassandra. “I… I do not recall all of it, but I know you helped me. I was crying because I was happy. I…” She tried to remember again. “I had my doubts, and you relieved them. You told me that I am good,” she said, meaningfully. “That we are good. I remember that much.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you remember anything else?” she asked, and Cassandra was certain she wanted her to tell her the one thing she did not want to admit to remembering, because she would not have wanted them to speak in private, otherwise.

“I…” She began to wring her hands. Maker take her nervous habits. She looked down. “I appreciate you talking me through my concerns. I am sure it must have been difficult. I am stubborn—you of all people would know that.”

“Perhaps, but it has made me best equipped to handle you. I have known you the longest of anyone here. Strange, is it not?” Leliana had a comfortable smile on her face, but it was sly, knowing. “We have not known each other for that long, I would say.”

“Eight years,” she said, without even having to think about it, “and two of those spent forming the Inquisition. It has been long enough to earn my trust.”

“If you say that,” Leliana said, “then why are you so reluctant to talk to me?”

“Because I know you when you are too comfortable. You become…”

“What?” she asked, smiling. “Do I intimidate you?”

She frowned. “I do not know if I can give you what you are looking for.”

“I have said nothing,” said Leliana. “You are assuming. I merely asked you what you remembered. If that is all, then you only need say it.”

“I told you that I loved you,” she said, grimacing. “I know that is what you wanted to hear.”

“Will you blame it on your drunkenness?”

“I was not lying,” she said, and the grimace persisted. “I do. As your partner. As your friend. But you want—”

“Wait. What did you think I was going to say?”

Her frown deepened. If she frowned any harder she was going to hurt her face. “You are…”

“I have been with women, yes. I did not say I wanted to be with _you_ ,” Leliana said, and looked at her in the eye. “You are beautiful. You are attractive. You have the most wondrous legs, and your scars are entrancing, and you are built like a goddess. But no. I have never said that I wanted to be with you. I know you do not want it.”

“Then why…”

“I want to know if you regretted saying that. You have difficulty expressing your feelings; Maker, you have difficulty feeling at all. I am… not sure what you meant by it.” She looked down. “You do not say things that you do not mean, but you can be poor with words.” She laughed a bit. “Perhaps it is pointless to even ask.”

“I do not,” she replied, anxious. “I do not regret what I said. I love you. You are a dear friend to me. You are…” She looked away. “We have been through so much together. How could I not? I have seen you—I have suffered with you—I have felt your struggles, as you have felt mine. We are as of one body, and one spirit.”

“Those are strong words, Cassandra.” She smiled wryly.

“That still does not mean…” She shut her eyes, and then opened them again. “Maybe I am not attracted to you, but I do not need to be to love you. To care about you. You understand that,” she said, and her voice grew strained. “You do not ask for anything more than I can give you, and that frightens me. You love me, and I love you as well, and we are friends, but…” She paused. “In your heart, perhaps you are looking for more?”

“You say that as if it is inevitable that I am going to fall in love with you,” said Leliana.

“It is not?”

“In truth, it is not that simple.” She walked up to her, and took her hands into her own. “Nothing is. Morality is not black or white. People are not soft or hard. Relationships are not romantic or platonic. There are layers to them, and what I feel for you… Well, I certainly am attracted, but does that make you uncomfortable?”

It was a hard question, and a cruel one. “No,” she said, honestly, “it does not. I do not mind, but I feel sorry.”

“Why? What do you have to feel sorry about?”

“I do not want you to… pine,” she said. “To want more than I can give you. I cannot do anything if you fall for me—”

“Cassandra.”

“What?” She looked at her.

“Who said you had to do anything?”

“I did,” she said, and then thought about it some more. “I do not?”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then why are you assuming that you must?”

“Because…” She faltered. “Because that is how it always goes,” she laughed, “in the storybooks. You fall in love, and you must consummate it, or else you wither away of heartsickness. But you are stronger than that. You are not a heroine of the tales; you are a person in the flesh. I should not feel sorry for you. I… I should be pleased.”

“You are flattered?” she asked, and smiled hard.

“No,” she said, “I am loved. I think…” She paused. “Well, what do you think? I have never even considered—but I do love you. I am just not sure… exactly how you understood that, when I said it. The word can take so many different forms, and it can mean so many different things to different people. Is it the same? Is your love the same as mine?”

“I don’t know. I can’t read your mind.”

She wanted to say that on some days, it felt like she could. “You know I will always be there for you,” she said, instead. “You… You cannot have the Right without the Left. I could not imagine the Inquisition without you—I could not imagine where I would be without you. We have achieved so much, and we could have only ever done so together. What would you call that?”

“Does it matter?” she asked. “Must we really have a word to define what we are?”

She frowned. “You equivocate.”

“Maybe it has not been invented yet. Maybe there are no words. We are the Divine Hands; we are the Left and the Right. We built the Inquisition, Cassandra. This…” She let go, and spread her arms, to encompass all of Skyhold. “This is us. There are no words for that.”

“There are not.” Cassandra looked down. “So I ought stop looking for one.”

“Good,” she said, and looked up at her.

Cassandra frowned. Leliana was still wearing her hood. It felt wrong, so she reached down and brushed it aside. Then she slid her hand down her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. Her face felt very hot.

“You are being very patient with me,” she said nervously.

“Oh?” she asked. “Is that what we’re calling it now? ‘Patience?’”

She let her hand fall down, settled it on her shoulder. “I am… better with my actions, than with my words, but I do not know… You mean so much to me, but… Maker, if I could only say this to everyone that I have loved—”

“It is OK,” Leliana said, idly grasping her hand. “You don’t have to use your words. That is not what relationships are about.”

“You are the clever one,” she said, gripping her shoulders, “so you must have some idea. What would you call us?”

“That is quite a ridiculous request.”

“Then give me a ridiculous response.”

“Truly?” She rose an eyebrow. “We are… Well,” she said, thinking, “we are the Right and the Left. We are the Divine Hands, so I suppose we are…”

“Ambidextrous?” she ventured.

Leliana laughed. She laughed for so long that Cassandra had to let go of her; she began to worry that she was actually laughing at her, rather than her joke. “Ambidextrous!” she said. “We are Hands, so we are…”

She flushed. “You did not have to laugh so hard.”

“You are precious, Cassandra. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise,” she said, looking at her, and then pulled her into an embrace. Cassandra wrapped her arms around her and fell silent. It was cold, but she was warm. She felt… scared. Vulnerable. As if if she were to let go, then she would lose her. “You are crushing my ribs,” Leliana laughed.

She let go and settled her hands on her shoulders again. “I-I…”

“What now?”

She shook her head. “I am not… good, with these things. I am—”

“Not going to do anything different now that you have admitted your feelings. You could kiss me,” she said, leering, “if you want.”

She sighed. “I thought we were not in that kind of relationship.”

“Then you do not need to change yourself for my sake.”

Leliana walked past her, up against the parapets. She began to hum, and her lips moved wordlessly; the tune was unfamiliar, but she recognized it somehow. Cassandra looked at her, with her hood down, leaning on the parapets and humming. She was the very image of Andraste. No. She was not divine, but she was at peace, Cassandra thought, in a way that only holy women could be.

“It would not be so bad, if I did,” she said, walking up next to her.

“You are forgetting the reason for our conversation last night.” She turned to look at her. “You are fine as you are.”

“Perhaps. But I could be better.” She smiled. “I never learn, do I?”

Leliana’s eyebrows rose. “Do you?”

“I do not.” She turned back toward the mountains, the peaks and ridges of the Frostbacks. “I must beg your forgiveness, Leliana, for not telling you all of this earlier. I was not… grateful, for your support.”

“It is just like you to apologize.”

“I… I do not want to be so awkward around you, or the others. I want to be comfortable with myself. I want to be as strong as I look.” She leaned over. “I want to see in myself what you see—to know. To learn.” She glanced at her. “That is not such a bad start, is it?”

“No,” she said carefully, “but that could mean a lot of things. You might not like what you learn.”

“So you would rather I be ignorant?”

“No, but…” She looked away, shy for some reason. “You don’t understand the power you have over other people.”

“You are afraid?”

She grinned to herself, guiltily. “That is not… I will admit, I don’t know if the world is ready for a more confident you. You might come as… kind of a shock, shall we say.” Leliana looked at her, still smiling, but with a furrow in her brow. “All proud and self-assured. It’s very… Well, I know I would want it, but you are one of a kind, Cassandra. If you knew that, you could make waves.”

She frowned. She almost felt offended. “There is something wrong with that?”

“No!” said Leliana. “No. It’s good. I’d like that. I just don’t know—I am…” She held a hand to her lips. “I would like that, actually.” She looked up at her. “For a change. You’re very brave, and very strong, and very kind, but if you were… confident, in your choices, then you may not be so kind anymore.”

“I would still be myself,” she argued. “I would just be more confident. They are not mutually exclusive.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Leliana turned back to the mountains. “But I fear that not everyone may know.”

She made an irritated noise. “What foolishness. Who are these people, so that I may tell them myself?”

She laughed. “It’s… more than you would expect. Strange, given that we have so many female leaders—but none with quite your personality. Or maybe… Maybe that is not true. Maybe I am making excuses.” She was quiet. “You could make waves,” she said again, as if to convince herself that that was even possible.

“Am I really so incredible?” she asked, bemused.

Leliana leaned against her. “I think so. But what do I know? I am a fool. I am in love.”

“You are in love,” Cassandra said, and smiled when she could not see her. “It is…” she paused, because she could think of no better word, “it is remarkable.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, major props to madamebadger's "the tune without the words," without which this piece probably wouldn't have existed. You can see its influence all over this thing. It also borrows elements from Stonestrewn's "Writing love all over," namely Cassandra's getting drunk off of brandy and her brilliant use of the word "remarkable." (If anyone hasn't read those yet, what are you doing, go read them now!)
> 
> Any comments or questions are greatly appreciated! Or... links to other Leliana/Cassandra fic...


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